


Manly Men

by deedeeinfj



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Austen brings together her heroes and villains and allows them to wreak havoc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manly Men

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published at the Republic of Pemberley, 1999.

During a certain summer week, a Miss Austen suddenly found her life very dull indeed, and sent the following letter to fifteen selected gentlemen:

Dear -------,

I send my warmest greetings to you and your ------ [insert: wife, ex-wife, mistress, or any combination thereof]. Would you do me the honor, Mr./Colonel/Captain/Reverend/Cad ------, of attending an assembly to discuss some very important matters? Mr. William Collins has granted me permission to hold this gathering at Longbourn in Hertfordshire. He himself will be out of town on a business trip. Do attend, on the seventeenth of July, at 2:00 in the afternoon. You cannot, after all, refuse, since I am Madame Authoress.

Warmest regards,   
J. Austen

* * *

"What is it, dearest?" asked Elinor Ferrars as her husband read his letter.

"I'm not exactly sure, but a J. Austen requests my presence at an assembly in Hertfordshire."

"Who is J. Austen?"

"I'm sure I don't know; let us hope that this is not another ploy of Lucy's to seduce me behind Robert's back."

"I doubt it, Edward. You should probably go and see what this is all about."

"I shall, I shall, though I have a bad feeling about it. What is this business about 'Madame Authoress'?"

* * *

"Marianne? Marianne!" called Colonel Brandon, entering the library with the letter in his hand. He saw his wife curled up in her favorite chair reading a book. "Marianne?" he said as he approached her.

"Do let me finish this sonnet," she sighed. He stood there tapping his foot, until finally she looked up and smiled sweetly. Seeing the letter, her eyes widened. "Is that from Willoughby?"

"No," he replied rather stiffly.

"Oh, I'm so relieved. I thought it would be another lock of his hair."

"He has been bald for months now, darling; he cannot possibly have more to send to you."

"But he sent a lock just last week..."

"I believe that was obtained from Lucy Ferrars."

"Oh! What is that letter then?"

"I'm invited to an assembly in the middle of June."

"By whom?"

"'Madame Authoress,'" he replied with a mysterious gleam in his eye.

* * *

Mrs. Willoughby came to the table for breakfast and found her husband reading a letter. "What is that you're reading?" she demanded. "Are you still corresponding with that Lydia Wickham?"

"Why, of course not, my sweet," he simpered. "I have not had a letter from her in a couple of weeks now."

"Kitty Bennet?"

"Er... not  _today_."

"I know - it's that Miss Elliot! You betray me shamefully!"

"Miss Elliot! Nonsense!"

"Isabella Thorpe, now there I have it."

"No, that was yesterday. Do calm yourself, dear. It's from a woman I've never met."

"How comforting," smirked poor Mrs. Willoughby.

"I'm going on a trip to Hertfordshire in a few weeks at her invitation."

"Make sure you get a lock of her hair," she mumbled as she buttered her toast.

* * *

Elizabeth Darcy joined her husband in his study, sat on the arm of his chair, and kissed the top of his head. "Do you have a lot of mail today, Fitzwilliam?"

"Not as much as usual, but one particular letter of interest."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to an assembly in Hertfordshire -- at Longbourn to be exact."

"I'm sure if you made up a good excuse, Mr. Collins would be glad to dismiss it."

"It's not your cousin, Lizzy. It's a J. Austen, and Collins won't even be there. I cannot imagine what this is about."

"I suppose I'll just have to do without you then," she sighed.

* * *

"Jane, dearest, I'm going to Hertfordshire in mid-July."

"All right, then, darling," replied Mrs. Bingley amiably.

* * *

"George!!" screeched Lydia. "You cannot go to Longbourn to meet some woman!"

"Why not? I go everywhere else in the country to meet women!"

"I hate you!" she screamed, slapping him soundly.

"Lydia, calm down," he said. "I hardly wish to add another woman to my list..." Seeing his wife reaching for her pistol, he decided to try another approach to pacify her. "...when your name fills it up completely."

"Oh, George!" she cried. She dropped the pistol on the floor, pulled a dagger from her bodice and set it on the table, and emptied a small bottle of arsenic out the window. As she flung herself into his arms, he realized that it would be a good thing to get away for a little while.

* * *

"Fanny, I've been invited to Hertfordshire this July."

"But..."

"I'm sure it would be a good experience for me."

"Really, Edmund, I..."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the theater, so don't worry."

"Will you..."

"Now, Fanny, will you be so good as to look after my mother while I'm gone?"

Fanny sighed, and wondered if Tom would consider an elopement.

* * *

"Maria, would you be considered my mistress?"

"I suppose so, Henry dear."

"Hmmm. I'm going to Hertfordshire in July."

"Is Fanny trying to get away from Edmund again?"

"No, this is a J. Austen, though I suppose she could be allied with Fanny. Maria, do you think I am a 'cad'?"

"Of course not, Henry."

* * *

Mr. Rushworth had no one to tell of his impending journey.

* * *

"Mr. Knightley, I do not think it at all advisable for you to go on such a long journey. Hertfordshire is a terrible place for you to go. You will catch your death."

"Now Papa, Mr. Knightley can take care of himself. This 'Madame Authoress' sounds like she has good connections; and a spinster with connections cannot be a bad acquaintance."

"Emma dearest, you should not sit on Mr. Knightley's lap like that. It will cause something to misalign in your back."

" _Her_  back?" exclaimed Mr. Knightley playfully. "My spine will crack any minute now with the weight of her."

Emma only laughed, but Mr. Woodhouse sighed, "I fear it's so."

"There, there, Papa," said Emma soothingly. "Mr. Knightley will make sure that Miss Austen keeps all the windows shut."

* * *

"Augusta, I..."

"Let me see that letter, Mr. E.," said his wife, snatching it from his hands. "Oh! An assembly in Hertfordshire. Well, you will go of course."

"Yes, I was..."

"I wonder if Longbourn has extensive grounds? Mrs. Partridge told me that Hertfordshire is fine country."

"Yes, dear, and..."

"I shall miss you excessively, my dear  _caro sposo_!"

Mr. Elton sighed and thought about how much Mrs. Martin had loved his jokes about celery root.

* * *

"Oh, Mr. Churchill, it will be so good of you to visit your new friend in Hertfordshire! She'll be so obliged, don't you think so, Jane? I'm so happy for you, and upon my honor, for her too. You will have such a lovely time. If mother breaks her spectacles, I'm sure you will fix them when you get back, for you do such a fine job of it. Oh! It will be so lonely listening to only one person sing at the pianoforte. You two accompany each other so lovely! But we shall try to do without you. Indeed! Indeed, we shall. Mrs. Knightley will pay us a visit, I'm sure. She's always so obliging. What a lovely trip for you, Mr. Churchill!"

* * *

"Catherine, I'm going on a trip to Hertfordshire in July. I've been invited by a mysterious woman."

"Oh, Henry, how delicious! I am sure that she murdered someone."

"I think not, Catherine. But she did call herself 'Madame Authoress.'"

"What intrigue! What suspense! If only I could go!"

"I had that secret passageway built for you, dear; what more horror do you need in your life? No, I shall go and brave it alone. May I take a lock of your hair to give me fortitude? Remember that name - J. Austen - and if something happens to me, you must see that a novel is written about me; it should be frightening and tragic. Can you be brave, my darling?"

Catherine's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Henry," she said, dabbing at her eyes, "do be careful and come back to me alive." Henry only shook his head and smiled.

* * *

Both Captain Wentworth and his wife were persuaded that his going to Hertfordshire would be the best course of action.

* * *

Mr. Elliot sat at his desk staring down at his letter, faced with the daunting task of trying to decide which of his mistresses he should inform about his trip.

"What are you doing, darling?" asked Mrs. Clay Elliot, joining him. "Is that another letter demanding money?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," he assured her. "I'll be going on a trip in a few weeks."

"Do be wise about spending your money," she said. "Perhaps I'll go stay with Sir Wa-- I mean, Elizabeth Elliot."

"Do as you please." Lucy Steele - that's which one he would tell.

* * *

And so it was that fifteen gentlemen - Edward Ferrars, Colonel Brandon, John Willoughby, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Charles Bingley, George Wickham, Edmund Bertram, Henry Crawford, Mr. Rushworth, George Knightley, Philip Elton, Frank Churchill, Henry Tilney, Captain Wentworth, and Walter Elliot - among them the most honorable men and most abominable scoundrels in all England, would journey to Longbourn in Hertfordshire, submitting themselves to the wit and whim of Miss J. Austen -- Madame Authoress... and she fully inntended to enjoy her sport.

The men more or less came promptly, though Miss Austen had a little trouble managing some of them. Within five minutes of their arrival, Henry Crawford and Mr. Rushworth were engaged in a fistfight, and Miss Austen requested the help of some of the other men to break them up.

"Gentlemen," said Madame when they were finally all seated in the parlor at Longbourn, "I thank you for coming."

"Our pleasure, I'm sure," interrupted Wickham with a syrupy smile.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Austen; a very great pleasure indeed," added Willoughby, not to be outdone.

"Why don't both of you fools shut up?" muttered Mr. Elliot with a roll of his narrow eyes.

"Who do you think you are telling people to shut up?" spat Mr. Rushworth. "They made me shut up, and I had so many speeches - more than forty, as I recall."

"Will you be quiet, you pompous idiot!"

"I'll show you what I think of you, Henry Crawford!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Miss Austen loudly. "I'm leaving now to visit my sister."

"Wait a minute," cried Frank Churchill. "What are we supposed to do?"

With a sly smile, Madame Authoress only replied, "It is evident that you all have much to talk about."

"This is not a virtuous thing to do, Miss Austen," said Edmund.

"In that case, thank you for inviting us, Miss Austen, and have a pleasant journey. Are you leaving now?"

"Yes, Mr. Wickham." Despite protests from all present, Madame Authoress left the house, only peeking back in to say sweetly, "And gentlemen, do try to be civil."

"How like a woman!" sighed Mr. Tilney.

The room was silent for several minutes. Finally, Frank spoke up. "Perhaps I could play the pianoforte."

"You think of nothing but showing off," said Mr. Knightley.

"Now look here, Knightley..."

"Please!" interrupted Mr. Darcy as he closed his book and stood up. "I believe that despite the circumstances, this meeting can be conducted in an orderly fashion."

"Who put you in charge?" complained Mr. Elliot. "My uncle is a baronet!"

"Earthly titles mean nothing," said Edmund, though no one paid him any attention.

"I am good at swabbing," inserted Edward Ferrars for no particular reason.

"Let us think now," continued Mr. Darcy, still trying to maintain order. "Why are we here?"

"I received a letter a few weeks ago..."

"Rushworth, you idiot! That is not what the man means," Henry said impatiently.

"I believe it is very clear," replied Colonel Brandon.

"Please enlighten us," jeered Willoughby.

"It is quite obvious that Miss Austen only wants to make sport of us."

"I hate women," muttered Mr. Tilney.

"I believe I found something," said Mr. Elton, lifting an envelope from a table by his chair. No one listened.

"I love women," said Willoughby with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Yes," said the Colonel wryly. "Just ask him why he has no hair."

Mr. Elton cleared his throat. "I believe I found something!" he said a bit louder.

"Please, can we get back on the subject at hand?" sighed Mr. Darcy.

"My uncle is a baronet," scowled Mr. Elliot.

"Will you shut up, you blackguard!" screeched Mr. Rushworth.

"Excuse me!" said Mr. Elton, finally getting their attention. "I found something. Shall I read it to you?"

"I am an excellent reader," announced Mr. Crawford.

"I have a good singing voice," said Frank.

"I write quickly," said Mr. Bingley.

"Mr. Elton, please read the letter to us," sighed Mr. Darcy, pressing his fingers to his temples.

"Dear sirs," read Mr. Elton, "I am trying to find the best woman in England, and I assumed that such a lady would be connected somehow to one of you fine gentlemen. Please discuss the matter then (in an orderly fashion, of course), and leave your answer on this table. Sincerely, J. Austen."

"The best woman in England?" repeated Mr. Darcy. "Why, that would be Elizabeth, of course. Now we can go home."

"That witch!" protested Mr. Elliot.

"Not Elizabeth Elliot," corrected Captain Wentworth. "I assume he speaks of his wife."

"Well, the man is certainly arrogant! My uncle is a baronet!"

"Well, now," said Edmund, "although I am by nature a humble man, I must nominate my wife Mary."

"Your wife is your cousin Fanny, you nitwit!" growled Henry.

"Certainly... that is who I meant."

"My wife waited eight years for me," said Captain Wentworth.

"It took her that long to decide you were worth marrying?" mocked Wickham.

"Let us not get into the etiquette of marriages," frowned Mr. Darcy.

"My wife Emma does all sorts of charity work, and is the best archer I have ever seen," volunteered Mr. Knightley.

"Not to mention the fact that she is a blind fool," muttered Frank.

"No, you speak of  _my_  wife, Mr. Churchill," sighed Mr. Tilney.

"My wife sings and plays the pianoforte beautifully, and has a great passion for Shakespeare," said Colonel Brandon.

"I cannot answer for the rest, but Mrs. Brandon certainly has great passion," added Willoughby cheerfully. "I heard something about her steaming up the windows of a car in the hold of a great doomed ocean liner."

"You must be mistaken," said the Colonel, clenching his fists. "My wife would never do such a thing."

"What in the name of heaven is a car?" asked Mr. Rushworth.

"My wife is certainly an amiable woman," said Mr. Bingley pleasantly.

"We are getting nowhere," moaned Darcy. "Let us try this - we will go around the room, and each will briefly describe his wife. When that is done, we will take a vote, and then we will be able to get out of here."

"Who put him in charge? My uncle is a baronet."

"Shut up, Elliot."

"My wife is named Elinor," said Edward. Everyone waited for him to continue, but he did not.

"My wife, as I have said, is a talented musician, and a very sweet lady," said Colonel Brandon.

"My wife has a lot of money," said Willoughby. "Or at least she  _did_ ; I spent a great deal of it."

"My wife is certainly an amiable woman," repeated Bingley.

"My wife Elizabeth is very beautiful, well-read, witty, and talented," said Darcy.

"There is no greater woman in England than my wife Lydia," simpered Wickham.          A few other men in the room nodded at this.

"No one plays the harp more beautifully than my wife, or has more wit," said Edmund. Henry Crawford shook his head.

"I have no wife, thanks to that scoundrel," Mr. Rushworth said bitterly, pointing to Henry.

"And she cannot be my wife, thanks to  _that_  scoundrel," returned Henry. Mr. Rushworth rose from his chair, but Mr. Darcy rushed over and calmed him.

"Emma is a sensible woman with a good heart," reflected Mr. Knightley.

"My wife Jane is beautiful," said Frank shortly.

"My wife..." began Mr. Elton.

"Catherine is agreeable," said Mr. Tilney. "She has an excellent imagination."

"My wife Anne has a gentle sweetness and goodness which I have never seen in any other woman."

"My wife is a wretched troll," said Mr. Elliot frankly. "My mistress Lucy Ferrars, on the other hand, is quite a remarkable woman." This also received nods from a few other men in the room.

"Let us take a vote then," instructed Mr. Darcy. He passed out torn pieces of paper and pencil stubs, and waited patiently as the men cast their votes. "Well," stuttered Mr. Darcy after counting the votes, "the greatest woman in England appears to be Lydia Wickham."

Willoughby clapped Wickham on the back. "You lucky devil!"

"Mrs. Bennet, at least, would be happy," thought Darcy.

Miss Austen walked in an hour or two later to find Rushworth knocked out in one corner, Frank Churchill sporting a black eye, and several fistfights going on. She was informed that Willoughby and Elliot were dueling over Lucy Ferrars in the garden.          Seeing Mr. Darcy sprawled in an armchair, she approached him with a slight smile. "A rough afternoon, Mr. Darcy?"

He looked up at her wearily. "Madam, I do not know who you are, but your cruelty cannot be matched."

"I am sure it can, Mr. Darcy. I could have created a mix-up with licenses at your wedding, or staged your death, or caused you other great mental anguish."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Where is dear Mr. Knightley?"

"He left to do battle with some giant insects."

"Ah! What a fine man he is." Madame Authoress smiled dreamily, and Mr. Darcy feared that he would have to find some smelling salts for her. "Do not worry, Mr. Darcy; I have recovered. You should leave and go home to Elizabeth before you get yourself killed."

"Yes," sighed Mr. Darcy, "I fear the Collinses will not find their home in the same state they left it." They both looked around at the broken windows and smashed furniture.

"What about the others?"

"When Willoughby is done fighting Elliot, he intends to have a duel with Brandon. Edward Ferrars is mopping in the kitchen. Bingley is defending the honor of his sister in a fight with Wickham. Edmund has been employed for the past two hours since he found some books of sermons. You see what happened to Rushworth at the hand of Henry Crawford; I do not know where the latter is now. Frank Churchill is playing the pianoforte and Mr. Elton... I am not sure where he is or what he is doing - probably nothing significant. Mr. Tilney went home so his wife would not be worried. Captain Wentworth has also left."

"My! What havoc I have brought about," thought Miss Austen as she watched Mr. Darcy climb into his carriage. "Perhaps next summer it would be enjoyable to invite the women over for a discussion - with a special request to Lydia Wickham  _not_  to bring her arsenic with her."


End file.
